Stay
by BlouBell
Summary: John was his friend, his best friend. His only friend. A friend who accepted his pig-headed attitude and self-proclaimed sociopath that he was. But John wasn't at his side this time. He was in front of him, lying down. Inert. SxJ


Okay, so it's the english version of my fiction "Reste" :D English isn't my first language, but I hope you'll like it. **  
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Pairing : SherlockxJohn. I think it may be fluffy and OCC...(+character death.)

I don't own _Sherlock. _(unfortunately...)

**Enjoy !**

**Reste.**

Nothing had importance. Empty, boring, dull.

Sherlock was no longer aware of anything, everything that was around him had no importance. The sound, the presence of the policemen, of the ambulance. He ignored those sounds, the people. But all his attention was focused on one person. A person that the mighty Sherlock Holmes didn't considered as boring, quite the reverse. _John_. John, the loyal soldier, a generous man and his guardian. Now, this simple name evoked so many things, many _feelings_.

Absurdities which hampered his thoughts, the best thing to do was to focus his mind on what was necessary, he had said to himself. But all those principles fell. John was his friend, his best friend, he thought. His _only_ friend. A friend who accepted his pig-headed attitude and self-proclaimed sociopath that he was. But John wasn't at his side this time. He was in front of him, lying down. _Inert_.

Sherlock retrieved the use of his vocal cords, but he managed to say only a few words:

"_ John…_John_…no…not him!"

Sherlock shoved everything that was in his way, he wanted to be near John without waiting. He quickened his pace, the actions were unrolling quickly, though he had the impression that all was functioning in slow motion. Now he was nearby John, kneeling because his legs couldn't support him. Holding firmly the hand of the person who was in his life, and it didn't displease him.

This life with John made him happy. Resolving cases with the loyal John Watson, John who also holds a blog about him and the cases, and of course their daily squabbles. Who must go out to buy the milk, why was there a head in the fridge, or the usual childish problem with the food concerning Sherlock. Yes, that was a life that he didn't want to abandon.

And John was harmed. Sherlock was blinking, the paramedics transporting John on a stretcher. For Sherlock, it was like a slap on the face. He straightened then he joined John, inside the ambulance. He didn't used to pray, doubting the existence of a divinity but, just for this one time. For John, the one who maintained him alive. John, who took him away from drugs and loneliness. He seized the doctor's hand. _Please_.

The color drained from the doctor's face, he was livid and blood smeared his clothes. He was wearing one of those jumpers that Sherlock was never weary to see. Yet, the jumper was covered in blood and the detective couldn't repress a chill. A bunch of scenarios crossed his mind, some of them were more tragic and ghastly than the others. _John won't stay with me anymore. John will quit Baker Street_. Though, he didn't want to imagine the worst. _John may die_. He felt a pain in his chest, a monstrous and paralytic pain. Was it even possible to suffer this much? He bit his inferior lip. He was terrorized, anxious, and downhearted.

A world without John and his life will be much more miserable. Sherlock tried to fight those thoughts. He carries out frictions on the doctor's hand, which was cold. The detective was desperately trying to warm him. They arrived at the Bart's Hospital. It was at this moment that Sherlock had to separate from his friend, and then an endless waiting began. It was his fault.

Just one mistake, he committed this mistake to let John go.

The doctor was called earlier, saying that his sister Harry had a problem and that she was at hospital. Of course, John Watson loved his sister and he didn't lose time, he decided to join her. Sherlock had let him go, ignoring that the killer they were tracking was always outside. The truth : Harry was perfectly fine, it was a vicious subterfuge from the killer. And here, the consequences, John was in emergency surgery. They lost time. While John was emptying of his blood, the brilliant Sherlock Holmes had been so slow ‼ He took his head and tried to smother his sobs.

"_The killer was arrested minutes ago, Sherlock."

The detective lifts up his head to see his brother. He cursed, he didn't need sympathy and even less from Mycroft. Normally, he would make noises with his violin to make him go, or he would say a cutting remark about his diet. Those kind of things amused John. Sherlock swallows. _Yes, but John wasn't here_. So he just nodded. He will eliminate the killer when John will be out of danger. The killer will _pay_.

"_ If only I had been faster…I could…but no, I just…let…I let him go…

_ You can't blame yourself Sherlock. You did everything you could. Nobody could prevent this."

Sherlock gave him a hollow laugh. He huddles up in a fetal position. He refused to have a conversation with Mycroft on this topic. He couldn't answer, the words were locked in his throat_. He did everything he could ? Nobody could prevent what happened to John?_ Oh, he could have done something, he could have intervened. He should have known that the phone call was suspect, and he should have followed his friend instead of lounging in the flat with his violin.

He had failed. He was endowed with a superior intelligence, with capacities of deductions that were extraordinary and he never missed an occasion to praise himself or impress John…but, as a friend. He had failed. The pool episode with Moriarty was a grievous memory, he had understood since that John was vital. But, he had failed, once again. And this new failure made him feel shameful. The shame. Another feeling he had discovered.

Mycroft was already gone, but Sherlock saw a cigarette next him. A stealthy smile appeared, but it disappears promptly. He internally thanked his brother. It was his way to show support, and Sherlock appreciated the gesture. He didn't smoke, it wasn't allowed in a hospital. He tucks in his right pocket, then he waited. Hours passes and not once he thought about sleep. He didn't need to sleep.

A doctor, finally! After all this waiting, Sherlock didn't hide his impatience. Unfortunately, the doctor didn't report goods news. The doctor didn't say anything, but Sherlock deduced it. He refused to believe it, so he waited. The medic opened his mouth, he spoke about the critic state of his friend. And…_this look._ This _desolate_ look. Sherlock couldn't form any syllables, because he guessed what the doctor was trying to tell him.

_He won't survive the night._

He managed to say :

"You're…you're joking…?"

Sherlock blinked and the medic was looking at him, feeling sorry to announce him such an horrible thing. The detective didn't wait, he went to John's room. The room was faintly enlightened, and John's breathing noises. He took a chair, then he sat, holding his friend's hand.

A sob escaped his mouth, then he tried to regain his posture. Appreciate the contact, entwine his fingers with the ex-soldier. Why did he never think about doing that before? Then, all his body tensed.

"Sher…lock…?"

Happy or downhearted, which attitude to adopt? Sherlock Holmes didn't know what to do. Instead, he tightened his grip on the doctor's hand. He attempts to smile, but he just realized that he couldn't bear to look John properly. John wasn't stupid, he knew what would happen. It was his body, and he knew that he hasn't enough time to live. Both knew how it would end.

"We'll…run out of milk…"

Sherlock forced a broken laugh, honestly surprised by John. How John can do jokes when he was…

Then, something in his brain made a strange noise. And he understood. Doing farewells was something too much painful.

The detective cherished every seconds, so he answered :

"And j-jam too…but this time…I'll b-buy it…! A-and, if it can reassure you, I'll clean the fridge too…and the table, no more experiments…and I'll eat, I'll stop the violin at 2 am, I'll be more friendly with the others, I won't be distasteful towards Donovan and Anderson, even Lestrade…and I'll sleep ‼ J-just p-please…John…stay."

_Stay_. This simple word sufficed to bring tears in the doctor's eyes.

"Sherlock…

_ I-if you want apologies John, then I-I'm sorry! Really, I didn't mean to let you go-…

_ Sherlock!

The detective stopped to speak, he was trying to suppress the lump in his throat. John looked at him, sadly:

"We're the best friends…right…?

_ J-John…I beg you…please don't…!

_ Those years that I spend with you…I will never forget them…"

A breathing that stops, doctors who enters in the room. A hand who cools down. Sherlock stayed silent, even when the medical staff took him out of the room. He just stayed there, motionless. Then he started to walk for a long time. He exited the hospital and now he was in front of Baker Street. Now, he was in the flat. His sight was hazy, so sat on his chair.

"John, prepare me a tea." He asked slowly. But the only answer he received was the silent of the flat. Worried, he got up and he moved in the kitchen.

"John…?"

On the table, there was a mug of tea half finished. John's mug. But where was he? Why he is taking so long? Sherlock took the mug, but the object slipped from his hands. The noise woke him, he saw the floor littered with porcelain fragments. John's mug was broken. Just like his heart.

_His heart?_

Sherlock fell on the floor, his hand tried to reach the fragments without worrying if he would hurt himself.

Then he shrieked. He shouted. He remembered that John left this world, John was gone and he won't come back anymore. He cried from the death of a person he cherished more than anything.

Those precious years he had spent with John, he will never forget them too.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thank' for reading

**CherryDuck :)**


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